Bound by Blood
by TwistedType
Summary: 1820's New Orleans. Caroline returns home for her brother, Emil's funeral. She soon finds herself with a charming suitor who's intentions she knows are anything but honorable. And his attention quickly has her caught up in the city's supernatural affairs. Vampire Diaries x The Originals x American Horror Story. Klaroline. Rated M for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, new story! I love'd the 1820s TO flashback (if only the whole show could have been that!?) and wanted to write a story on it with the addition of some Klaroline and some American Horror Story (and a little, little _Gone with the Wind_ influence)!**

**I'm really excited about this and hope y'all like it! **

**Warning: I'm going to realistic, so if you are easily offended you probably shouldn't read this.**

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Caroline Robertson stared out the carriage window, her vision obscured by the mourning vile that hung limply from her bonnet. The gauzy material hid the tear streaks that graced her ruddy cheeks and puffy eyes, swollen from lack of sleep. In her lap she rested her hands crushing the material of her dress between her fingers, the black fabric surrounding her like stormy sea waves.

Her crystal eyes were trained on the house in the distance. Her perfect family home, settled amongst the mossy oaks that lined the Mississippi. It was a pretty picture, with its wrap-around porches and Roman columns, but its history told another story. And now another death added to the homes ledger.

Emil. Her brother, her blood. Gone too soon from the cruel world. He'd been young, too young. Only twenty-five, still fresh and vivacious — in love, he'd last written.

A pain filled sigh left her lips, her broken heart bleeding with every turn of the carriage wheels. She straightened her back, gathering false strength, trying with all her might to prepare herself for what was to come. Her mind teased, playing the images she wished to see: Emil running down the steps, greeting his thoroughly educated sister with warm hugs and playful teasing. That was how it always was. They might not have been fully kin, but he treated her well just the same.

But the door never opened and he never came.

The wagon ground to a halt before the planation. The quiet melancholy surrounding the house broken as a flurry of activity took over. The front doors burst open; slaves dawned in all black rushing down the porch steps. Caroline pushed herself forward in her seat as the carriage door swung open, the familiar hand of the family butler reaching in. Her trembling hand fell into his, allowing him to help her from the carriage, a sad smile playing across her features. She was home.

The last place she wanted to be.

"Miss Caroline." Henry said, giving her a slight bow. She tilted her head in acknowledgement.

"Thank you, Henry."

"I's real sorry 'bout your brother. Master Emil was'a kind one."

Caroline nodded again, swallowing back the angry lump that formed in her throat. Her rage and grief mixing into an overwhelming cocktail. Taking a strong step forward she passed the help, eyes downcast. She couldn't meet their eyes knowing they held the same pain as hers.

"Where's Mammy?" She asked to no one in particular, a selfish want taking over her. She wanted her — now.

"I's rights here Miss Caroline." Mammy said as she emerged from the house, a huge old women with the shrewd eyes of an elephant. Her skin was black as night and hair just as dark, the opposite of sunshiny Caroline in every way, but the only mother the girl had known. Caroline paused when she saw her. Mammy eyes, mirroring the loss hers held. Caroline's face fell, eyes watering as she brushed aside etiquette, running to the slave with childlike desperation, not stopping till she was in arms.

"It'll be al'ight, Miss Caroline." Mammy shushed as Caroline buried her head into the women's soft shoulder, sobs breaking from the teenagers lips. "It'll be al'ight."

—

Caroline didn't see her father till the following morning. Thomas Robertson was a handsome man, strong jawed and broad backed with dark penetrating eyes. Eyes that held a familiar red ting, swollen with drink. He was dressed in all black, his hair and clothes disheveled, unfit for the days events. He looked worn, older. No longer the virile man she remembered.

"Daughter." He greeted gruffly as she sat, before taking another sip of his stiff drink. Caroline eyed the amber liquid, her own tongue thirsting for a taste. She could do that. Be lazy and selfish, loose herself in grief. It would just be so easy.

"Father." She snipped, before letting a heavy silence fall between them, years of family strife swirling about their heads as thick as smoke.

Caroline couldn't remember the last time she'd sat down with her father like this. He'd shipped her off to school as soon as he could, no true interest in her education, only the wish to be rid of her. She was a burden, the daughter of a mother who'd been his wife for barely a year. She'd only be of use to him as a pawn. A pretty little doll, dressed to impress whomever he pleased.

Caroline knew this must have been how her mother felt all those year ago. Inadequate — a child. All of sixteen thrust by her parents into the arms of an established man twelve years her senior.

But Caroline was not her mother. She wouldn't succumb so easily. She would preserver, no matter what cards life dealt her.

Her mother had not been so lucky. No, she was sickly, _ever since birth_, Grandmother Rose would crow, and the sweltering summers, the humid nights, they weren't good for a woman of her affliction. She only lived long enough to see Caroline take her first breathes before passing.

Thomas never took another wife. Caroline liked to think that her mother's death made her father crazy with sorrow, but she knew that wasn't the truth. Instead he thrust himself into the murky politics of Louisiana. Reveling in the power and attention it afforded him, only coming home long enough to impregnate a slave or two before moving on. The grounds were littered with them. Sibling's society told Caroline to hate, to treat like cattle. And yet she couldn't.

They were her family — blood.

The only true family she'd ever known.

"Thank you, Dottie." Caroline said as the slave placed a bowl before her, steaming with fresh ground grits. Her skin a high yellow and eyes the same sparkling blue as Caroline's. Dottie bowed, before backing out of the room. Governor Robertson cleared his throat, eyeing his daughter.

"The procession will begin at half past noon." He began, his voice deep and groggy. The years were getting to him. The drinking, the partying, the promiscuity, tearing him apart from the inside.

Emil's death was only another nail in his coffin.

Caroline nodded, her eyes stuck on her breakfast. She wasn't ready for this day. The act of burying her Emil would make it real, the dream like state she'd been living in falling away.

"Can we not wait another day?"

"No." He answered sharply, pushing back from the table. His chair tumbled to the floor, crashing against the hardwood in his haste. Wobbling on his feet he moved from the room. Caroline gritted her teeth, watching his pathetic form go. Emil would be ashamed at what they were, at what they'd become.

—

Caroline's shoes clicked harshly against the hardwood floor, resounding through the house like ticking bomb. Her fingers slid over the sharp silver scissors ensconced in her hands, her mind filled with determination. Behind her trailed two pickaninnies, muscular and hard, perfect for the job she was asking of them.

"What's you ups to Miss Caroline?" Mammy asked, watching the girl's somber approach to the sitting room where her brother's body rested. Caroline's eyes snapped to the women's betraying her intentions in an instant. Mammy knew nothing good came from Caroline with a sharp, determined look in her cat like eyes.

"What should have been done before." The blond answered calmly, keeping her constant steps. Mammy waddled after her in hot pursuit of the foolish child.

"Oh, nos you don't. You's ain't gots no business in there." The slave said, wrapping her leathered hand around Caroline's upper arm. The girl paused, cutting Mammy a murderous look.

"Yes, I do." Caroline ground out through clinched teeth, her vision locked on the black casket at the other end of the room. Around it laid hundred of flowers, done up ornately, to mask the stench of decay wafting through the room.

"You's hand those scissors to me. No's lady ain't got no's business doin' that."

"He's my brother." She stated calmly, void of emotion. Caroline was trying desperately to detach herself from the situation. She need to see him order to let go, otherwise it would never seem real. "I need to say goodbye."

Mammy wrapped her fingers tighter around Caroline's arm, her stare not breaking from the girls face. Caroline swallowed, continually staring ahead, refusing to look her in the eyes, masking her sorrow the best she could.

"Please, Mammy" She begged, her strong voice breaking. Her eyes watering against her will. "Let me say goodbye."

The old slave paused before releasing a resigned sigh and freeing the teenager's arm. There'd be no convincing her that she was wrong. As weathered hand dropped, Caroline straightened her back, marching forward with renewed determination.

Her nose stung from the smell the closer she got, the overwhelming stench covered with sickly sweet floral made her stomach roll. Her courage was slipping away with each second that passed.

"Remove the lid." She ordered in a whisper. The two stoic slaves came from behind her, adhering to her command, nausea overtaking them all as the lid was detached. Before Caroline was a man that was no longer her brother, but a body bloated and discolored. The smell was overpowering, causing Caroline to bend over and dry heave next to the casket.

"Shut its, rights now." She heard mammy say from across the room, but Caroline shook her head. She straitened up, tightening her grip on the caskets side.

"N— no. No." She croaked. "I'm fine."

"You's ain't —"

"Leave!" Caroline screamed, her voice cracking with emotion as she turned on Mammy. Her fist shook, the silver scissors a weapon. Her face was blanched, as pale as a ghost and as frightening. "I'm doing this."

The slave raised her hands in surrender, backing father out of the room. Caroline cut her glare away and back to her brother's body. She swallowed, trying to stomp down the bile inching it's way up her throat. With desperate movements she inched closer to the body, her black-gloved hands tilting his bulbous face to the side.

"I'm so sorry, brother." She said through watery eyes. "This should have never..." Her words trailed off, the words, the apologies she wished to say disappearing from her mind. The only thing she could think as she clipped away a few dark locks of his hair was that, _it wasn't fair_. His death should have never happened. An accident so sudden and tragic that it couldn't be real. And yet here was her proof, the body before her undoubtedly her brothers.

Caroline clutched the darkened locks she'd cut in one hand, removing them from the casket and stuffing them carefully in her skirt pocket. With a sad smile, she ran her other hand over his hair, righting his head as she said her final goodbye.

"I love you, brother." She whispered as the tears she'd been holding back finally spilt over her lashes. "I always, will."

Closing her eyes, she backed away. "Shut it." She ordered harshly. "Now."

The slaves did as they were told, while Caroline gripped at her stomach trying to calm herself. Her whole body was shaking, eyes blurring with waves of tears. She felt so lost, grief consuming her. Nausea took her once more as she stumbled across the room, her feet leading her towards the crystal decanters filled with amber liquid. With trembling, desperate hands she shed her gloves, dropping them to the wooden floor, before opening the carafe, spilling the liquid as she filled a tumbler.

"Leave me." Caroline ordered, her usually kind decorum gone, as she raised the glass to flushed lips. She just wanted to be alone.

The liquid burnt her tongue, flashing like fire down her throat. She swallowed harshly, the alcohol, settling heavy in her stomach. It did nothing to sooth her nerves, instead making her aching head spin. She ran hand over her face, and through her hair, ruffling her finely done updo. Golden curls slipping from their confines, sticking to the vile of sweat that covered her forehead.

She was a mess.

Wobbling on her feet she dropped onto the nearest seat, the drink in her hand sloshing as she fell. She felt so helpless. Nothing could change the current state of affairs or take away the agony encompassing her tender heart. She hated it. Hated everything. A sob left her lips, before she threw back another swig of the vile alcohol — anything to dull the pain.

With glazed eyes she started at the casket, letting her sorrow consume her.

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**Let me know what you thought! Hope to update soon!**

**XOXO — TwsitedType**


	2. Chapter 2

**Next chapter! **

**Enjoy! **

**Warning like ALWAYS: Deals with sensitive issues. Honestly, if you've read my stuff before you should be used to this by now. **

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She sat there for what felt like hours. Staring into space, her mind still trying to make sense of the past seventy-two hours. She knew it was real — all of it — and yet it still felt like a nightmare.

The baroque clock that sat upon the mantel chimed harshly, jolting Caroline out of her daze. The now empty tumbler slipped from her finger, cracking against the floor. Caroline gazed down at the shards, unable to make herself care about the mess she'd made. Slowly she began to move, rising from her seat. She lurched forward, a drunken giggle flying from her lips as she righted herself. As if realizing her mistake, she clasped a hand over her lips. The laughter died, turning into a devastated moan.

"Caroline?" She heard hollered through the house. She paused, suddenly becoming overly self-aware of her current state. She brushed a hand gently over her curls, trying to right the damage she'd done. Her attempts were too late though, as the clunking footsteps of her father could be heard resounding through the hallway. "Caroli —"

His shouting perished as he rounded the corner, catching sight of his disheveled daughter. Caroline watched her father's now clean appearance distort into rage at the sight of her. She stepped back, sucking in a deep breath and preparing for the worst.

"What the hell is this?" He demanded causing her to flinch. His deep voice resounded in her ears like a drum. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came. Instead she stood gaping like a fish. "You dumb, girl!" His boots clicked as he approached her, snatching her arm up roughly. "You insolent little fool! Drunk as a skunk, acting like white-trash."

Caroline yelped as he shook her, clumsily trying to break out of his hold. "S— stop." She pleaded, clawing at his hands as he drug her from the room like a rag doll. Helplessly she followed along, mind blurring.

"Mammy, you worthless nigra!" Governor Robertson shouted. "Show yourself."

The slaves within the house were scattering, scurrying away like spooked sparrows, trying to hide themselves from their Master's wrath. All except Mammy, who stood at the end of the hall, hands on her hips. Her eyes showed no surprise at the state of her Master or her Mistress.

"Yes'a, Gov'nor." She answered calmly.

He shoved Caroline forward, causing her to crash into the slave. Mammy steadied her, grabbing at her upper arms. Caroline crumbled into her, head falling into her shoulder with a quite wail. "I— I'm so—"

"I ought to take a whip to your flesh." He snarled, his dark features contorting in rage. "Negligent nigger, can't even do your job. Make her decent, or I'll see to it that you spend the rest of your days in the fields."

The governor stormed away, leaving a stoic Mammy with a hysterical Caroline. She shushed the blond quietly, running her hands over her flaxen hair. With help, she moved Caroline to her room upstairs, situating her on the bed. Caroline continued to sob soundlessly, face buried in her hands.

"Shush, child. It's a'ight, but's you's gotta calm down." Mammy said, pulling her hands away from her face and using a handkerchief to wipe away her snot and tears. "Prissy, get's Miss Caroline's gloves and bonnet. Dottie, bring's up her vittles."

Caroline struggled to calm her breathing as the negros flurried about her. She kept trying to apologize, but Mammy snapped at her every time, pressing her to hush and sober up.

Eventually they had her dressed, her hair fixed and veiled bonnet atop her head, hiding her bloodshot eyes. Her fidgety hands ensconced in black lace gloves, concealing her sweaty palms.

"Mammy." The teen whispered as Mammy nudged her to the bedroom door. Prissy trailed along besides her fixing the voluminous mourning gown that adorned her slender frame. "Thank you. I —"

"I's knows." The wise slave said, giving fragile Caroline a sad smile. "I's knows."

—

Caroline descended the stairs, her legs wobbling beneath her like a newborn calf. She could hear voices below her, but she was unwilling and unable to make sense of their words. Her head was still hazy with drink, the tea and food she'd consumed barely easing the feeling.

Her hand tightened on the railing as she caught sight of her father, who stood at the bottom of the banister. His features no longer held the anger she'd faced earlier, instead masked with a calm, cool façade.

Beside him stood two gentlemen and a woman. Caroline narrowed her eyes at the sight of them. None of them looked familiar, but this was not a real surprise, as Caroline hadn't lived in New Orleans since she was a child. Each one was dressed handsomely, their appearance more then wealthy, almost regal. Her steps faltered slightly as she took them in, wondering who could be so important as to bother her father and her in their time of mourning.

"There she is." Her father said, almost lovingly, when he caught sight of her on the stairs. Caroline gave him a small smile, unsure of how to react. She took his offered hand, allowing him to help her down the final steps.

"I'd like to present my daughter, Caroline." The Governor said, gesturing to her with his other arm. Caroline swallowed nervously, dipping slightly in a curtsy. "Caroline, the Mikaelson family. They've recently arrived to New Orleans from Europe."

"How do you do." She murmured, her voice gravely from recent tears.

"Elijah Mikaelson, Miss Robertson. My family and I are deeply sorry for your loss." The darker featured of the two men commented, offering her his hand. Caroline took it, allowing him to bow and kiss her knuckles.

"Thank you."

"Allow me to introduce my siblings. Niklaus and Rebekah."

Caroline's eyes flickered to the other male, tilting her head politely in his direction. His eyes were trailing up her form and she shivered under his scrutiny. Those dark blue eyes were looking at her as if he knew what she looked like without her shimmy on. His lips curled upward, giving her a hedonistic smirk. Caroline returned his look with widened eyes, before turning to his sister.

As if it just clicked in her mind, Caroline tossed her head recognition. _Rebekah_. The girl her brother loved. Without thinking she stepped towards her, throwing out all social conventions, and wrapping her arms about the shocked girl in a tight hug. "Emil, wrote about you." She whispered into the women's ear. "He loved you, said you'd stolen his heart."

She pulled back bashfully, giving Rebekah a tear-filled smile. Surprisingly, the smile was mirrored in the youngest Mikaelson's eyes. She gripped Caroline's hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. "Thank you."

Caroline nodded, returning Rebekah's squeeze, before taking a step back. She turned to her father, who was glaring at her. Obviously, upset at her distasteful action.

"We should be going." The Governor said, offering Caroline his arm. She took it, not missing the way his hand clamped down on top of hers in warning.

—

The funeral procession for Emil wasn't large. In fact, it was surprisingly small for the son of the governor. Caroline and her father trailed behind the carriage that held Emil's casket, every step more painful that the last. Caroline was lost to her grief again. The tears trickling down her face, refusing to stop. Her father kept giving her sideward glances, threats to control her emotions, but it was useless. Watching Emil's casket roll down the lonely backwoods road was like finding out he was gone all over again.

The crack of a whip broke the gloomy silence that followed the procession. Caroline jumped, her watery eyes snapping to the source of the sound. It was no surprise what she saw. It was commonplace to see this type of punishment, but it never became any easier.

_"They're property, Caroline. Nothing more." _the old words of her father ringing in her ears.

She bit her lip, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene. The boy was a child, no more deserving of the punishment than any of them were. He doubled over again as the whip bit into his back, his cries echoing over the landscape.

Caroline's steps faltered, mouth dropping open in a gasp as the boy looked up at her. _His eyes_. Those warm brown eyes. It was if she was looking at Emil. There was no doubt in her mind — this boy, this slave, was her brother. Before she could think of her actions, Caroline was yanking her arm away from her father.

Governor Robertson looked down at her in shock, his fingers gripping her upper arm and pulling her into his side before she could slither away. Caroline jerked harder against him, tugging with all her might, not caring who saw their struggle. "Let me go!" She wept quietly, her eyes trained on her brother as he was hit with the whip again crumbling to the ground.

Her father hissed at her words, forcing her to march forward. "Remember your place."

"He's my _brother_."

The Governor's fingers clawed into her arms, causing Caroline to let out a tiny yelp. "Your brother is dead. _That_ is nothing but a nigger."

Her teeth gnawed together at his words, her eyes narrowing into slits. Whipping her head she glared at him with every ounce of hate and anger she held in her body. "That is _your child_."

The words were barely out of her mouth, but she could already feel the stinging across her flesh. The hot imprint of her fathers handed branded into her cheek. A pathetic cry left her lips, her hand covering the burning flesh.

"Say another word, and it will be you at the end of that whip." He murmured darkly, yanking her forward.

Caroline's teeth dug into the flesh of her cheek as she was forced onward. Helplessly her eyes drifted back to the boy. She shook her head in confusion, eyebrows furrowing as the sight before her.

The blue-eyed Mikaelson kneeling down and helping her brother from the ground.

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**Hope you liked it! I know there are some things that need to be cleared up, but I promise that is coming! Let me know what you think! **

**XOXO — TwistedType**

**P.S. If you wish to critique my work that's fine, but please don't do it anonymously (like a coward) so I can reply. TRUST ME, I know I am in no way perfect, but blanket rude statements are not cool. **

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